Soreness as an indicator of progress

This past weekend, I took off for my hometown to help my mom get her house ready to sell ... for the third time :)

Despite a lot of roadblocks and a major fish fry on the deck Saturday night, we were able to do the following in three days:

1. Clean out the Den/Computer Room/"Courtin' Room" (my dad's name for it) which included no less than a million of the following: Harley Davidson tchotchkes my dad swears are "worth a lot of money"; actual floppy disks including "Mouse Setup II" from like 1992; and VHS tapes, DVDs, and books people drop off for my mom which she never wanted in the first place (I am one of the guilty parties).
   
2. Take a load of stuff to the thrift store and only come out with one toy, 3 books, and a "new" desk for the den to replace the awful particle board thing they had.
3. Scrape the REALLY OLD wallpaper still scarred by cat scratches from a cat we had over 15 years ago and paint/paper the room in a lovely new color with fake wainscoting wallpaper. Trim will come later, according to my dad's promise.
4. Clean out yet another room full of trash, home decor, and fabric my mom's been saving for way too long. My little sister took it all to the dumpster at her apartment building, so don't tell anyone.
5. Dismantle another particle board beauty—the entertainment center from my dad's gun room (don't ask) and throw it in the pile to be burned out at my cousin's place (are you getting the redneck vibe yet?).
6. Scrape poster putty from my childhood room's ceiling. I stuck it there to hang the glow-in-the-dark stars so it's fitting that I stood on a ladder to peel it all off.
   
7. Sand and paint the walls and ceiling in that same room that got "fixed" by my sister and an old boyfriend who also wisely decided to paint it a dreadful purple. It's now a lovely Dutch Boy "popcorn" white.

This was all accomplished while my dad, jilted by friends who were supposed to take him away for the weekend, was alternating between providing color commentary on our work, arguing about what we were throwing away despite his assertion that it's all my mom's junk, and screaming at us for accidentally disconnecting his cable in the middle of the 4th 3-hour long classic car auction he'd watched over the weekend.

I want to give my mother credit for not taking the rest of my dad's pain pills and giving up. I also want to give my dad credit for not throwing me out. It was stressful for him and the weekend culminated in my little sister getting a flat tire in his driveway which he had to help her fix with a bad back/jack combo. He somehow pulled it together and finished the job.

Here's to everyone who has ever tried to fix up a 100 year-old house with 55 year-old inhabitants.